


Prologue

by kisahawklin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Vegas, Episode: s05e19 Vegas, M/M, One Night Stand, Strip Chess, Strip Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-14
Updated: 2009-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Rodney meet before the episode 5.19, Vegas and a misunderstanding leads to a little something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alizarin_nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/gifts).



When Rodney met John Sheppard in the alternate reality, he'd been utterly fascinated. Not by Sheppard himself, but by Sheppard's clear belief in his abilities. No one ever believed in Rodney (except himself). No one ever liked Rodney either, but Sheppard seemed to do that too.

Okay, it wasn't _his_ abilities Sheppard believed in, and Sheppard didn't like _him_, but he figured Sheppard would warm to him too, given enough time. He never found out - between himself, the other McKay, and a surprisingly effective move from his Zelenka, he went back after thirty-six hours.

It seemed a little lonely when he got back to his Atlantis, and he wondered what it might be like not to have be the techie, strategist, organizer, diplomat _and_ team leader. He wondered why he had never met Teyla, why he didn't have a Ronon to watch his back. It was exhausting being able to rely only on yourself.

He wasn't much for introspection, but he was pretty sure it was the friendship between Sheppard and McKay that made him look for John Sheppard in his reality. How strange it had been to see a satisfied smile on his own face, to feel like if he had the kind of luck _that_ McKay had, he would be having a much better time of it now.

He could do a certain amount of searching from Atlantis, as long as he was covering his tracks, making it look like he was checking on an old friend. Sheppard was in Las Vegas, had been court martialled and dishonorably discharged, and his finances didn't look too good.

He should have given it up. Obviously this John Sheppard was a loser, and not worth the time he'd already wasted searching. He couldn't shake it, though. The differences between that Atlantis and his, the differences in himself - he seemed happy, and Rodney couldn't remember the last time he'd looked so relaxed. It was Atlantis, for crying out loud, the city herself was trying to kill them when the Wraith and Replicators weren't.

It was his first real vacation that gave him the chance to do some serious detective work. He hadn't even realized it at the time; he just knew he was required to take two weeks or Sam was going to put him in a puddlejumper on autopilot to get him out of her hair. When she asked where he was going, he answered without thinking.

"Las Vegas."

* * *

  
Now that he was here, he didn't know what to do with himself. It only took him a couple of hours to scope out Sheppard's house, work, and the casino where he did the most gambling, according to his credit card receipts.

Figuring out the math on the gambling might have been fun if he hadn't done it high school, and worked out back then that the house always won. That meant sitting at the bar waiting for Sheppard to show up, and it was still early, way too soon to start drinking seriously. He thought about what he might say to Sheppard, why he was here in the first place, why Atlantis with John Sheppard in it seemed _right_.

He gave up and ordered two fingers of scotch, neat.

He was into his third glass when he saw Sheppard come in, dusty black jeans and cowboy boots, aviators on even in the gloom of the casino. He looked burned out, washed out, down and out, just about every kind of out you could be. The jacket he had on over the ensemble was the only nod to the fact that he had a day job that might need him to look somewhat professional. He took it off and slung it over a chair at the end of the bar, a couple of seats down from Rodney.

"Usual, Shep?" the bartender asked, and Sheppard nodded.

When he had poured some concoction into a martini glass, the only component of which Rodney recognized was vodka, he came back over and asked Rodney if he wanted a fourth glass of the Glenfiddich.

"Think I've had enough," Rodney said, and the words came out mostly intact. The fact that he'd had to concentrate entirely too hard on them definitely meant he was done for the night. "What are you drinking?" he asked. The other Sheppard had definitely seemed like a crappy beer kind of guy.

"Dirty martini," he answered, and drank it all in a single long gulp, tipping the glass and his head back dramatically. "Steve," he yelled, when he finished and set the glass back down. "Time for round two."

Steve chuckled and headed back down to their side of the bar to mix Sheppard another dirty martini, which, disappointingly, turned out to be just a martini with olive juice in it. "Hold on," Sheppard said, draining his glass in another long, smooth swallow and handing the glass back. "Promise I'll make the next one last."

Rodney chuckled in spite of the fact that it looked like his Sheppard was a lush on top of being every other type of loser Rodney could think of.

"What?" Sheppard asked, tilting his head and smirking at Rodney. "Just because I like to hit the road running doesn't mean I don't know how to enjoy the ride."

Maybe it was the scotch, or maybe it was the surprisingly low and gravelly voice, nothing like that other Sheppard's, but it sounded like a come on. Rodney suddenly wished he had a glass to take a drink out of. He signaled Steve, who was just finishing up Sheppard's martini.

"Maybe I'll take that next one after all."

"A little liquid courage before you hit the tables?" Sheppard asked, taking a sip and setting his glass down.

Rodney laughed. "Not with the way the odds are stacked. If I have to work against the odds, I like something with a little more payoff."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow at him, and Rodney realized he had inadvertantly made his own double entendre.

"I'm trying to quit," Sheppard said before Rodney could stutter out more of an explanation.

"Failing miserably, I see," Rodney said and held his glass up to Sheppard in a toast before taking a solid swallow of the scotch.

"Gambling," Sheppard said, with a raised shoulder, something that might have been a shrug if Sheppard was more invested in it.

"Oh," Rodney said by way of apology. "Seems to me like a casino might not be the best place to do your drinking if that's the case."

"Mmm," Sheppard agreed, twisting his martini glass by the stem. "But the only decent bars in town-"

"Are in the casinos," Rodney finished for him. He had no idea if that was true, but the fact that Sheppard thought it was meant he was a glutton for punishment. "Listen," Rodney said, because suddenly he wanted Sheppard to quit gambling, and maybe drinking, and maybe fucking up his life in general. "Why don't we get out of here and get something to eat? I need something to mitigate the hangover that's already starting."

"All the best food is-"

"In the casinos," Rodney finished for him. "Well, fine, I'm staying at the Wynn. Let's order something in and watch the free cable." Rodney tipped his glass up and ignored the way Sheppard's eyebrows came out of hiding from behind the aviators. "Come on, what else have you got to do?"

Sheppard lifted his glass in a toast. "All right," he said, draining it in another throat-baring display.

* * *

  
Rodney debated going to one of the four star restaurants as they walked through the hotel, but Sheppard wasn't dressed for it, and it would've been a little weird anyway, spending a couple of hundred on dinner in a restaurant and then going upstairs to watch TV.

They got steaks and lobster from room service instead, and Rodney ordered another bottle of Glenfiddich. Mixing drinks made him throw up, so anything else was out. He debated ordering something for Sheppard, but he'd already made himself at home with Rodney's mini-bar, a line of tiny, empty vodka bottles decorating the counter, so he decided against it.

They shared the lobster, and somewhere between the claws and the tail, Sheppard took off his sunglasses. They made surprisingly easy small talk, Sheppard ribbing Rodney about his complete ignorance of all sports, and Rodney scoffing and calling Sheppard an idiot for wasting his time on them.

"Not really," Sheppard said, and launched into a detailed explanation about how to weight the variables to achieve the most accurate statistics.

"And you've made a fortune betting on sports," Rodney said, looking up and down Sheppard's rumpled clothing.

It happened so fast, Rodney wasn't sure he'd seen it. Sheppard retreated, his face as unreadable as if he had put his aviators back on. He reached for more of the mini-bottles of vodka he'd liberated from Rodney's mini-bar and Rodney wanted to apologize, or explain that's just how he was, that Sheppard shouldn't take it so personally.

Sheppard downed two of the bottles and said, "Well, let's get to it, then."

Rodney looked around, trying to figure out what Sheppard was talking about. Did he forget the dessert tray somewhere? "Get to what?" he asked, when Sheppard's stare unnerved him.

Sheppard smiled condescendingly and put a sturdy hand on Rodney's shoulder. "Playing innocent? You're a little old for that."

"Innocent?" Rodney asked, and gaped as Sheppard reached for his belt buckle.

"You expect me to believe you actually invited me up here to _watch TV_?" Sheppard's hand stopped, hovering an inch in front of Rodney's very expensive belt, and he blinked at the surprise that must have shown on Rodney's face. "You did." He leaned back, and Rodney tried to bring his brain back online.

"You... you..."

"Normal people don't invite strangers up to their hotel rooms to hang out," John supplied, looking both belligerent and apologetic. He stood, grabbing his jacket and starting toward the door.

_Stranger_, Rodney thought, and rolled his eyes at himself. Of course Sheppard thought he was a stranger. He scrambled off the couch to follow Sheppard to the door, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. "Wait," Rodney said. "Where are you going?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Well, I just got a two hundred dollar dinner from a guy who didn't expect anything out of me. That kind of luck, I gotta try my hand at the tables."

"Don't," Rodney said, squeezing Sheppard's shoulder tighter. "Stay."

"And what, watch TV?" Sheppard shook his head. "I'm not one for mindless entertainment." He smirked, sadly. "Not that kind, anyway."

"Okay," Rodney said, pulling Sheppard around by the shoulder he was gripping too tightly and kissing him. Sheppard startled and stepped back, putting his hands on Rodney's chest.

"Whoa," he said, removing his hands from Rodney almost as fast as he put them there, but keeping them up in front of himself defensively. "You're straight."

Rodney crossed his arms. "Says who? I just kissed you, didn't I?"

Sheppard lost a little of the hunted look. "That's pretty much a dead giveaway."

"Guys don't kiss?" Rodney asked.

Sheppard chuckled, circling Rodney, taking in the expensive suit, complete with jacket Rodney hadn't taken off over dinner, and not missing the wedding band on Rodney's finger. "You hadn't even considered that asking another guy up to your hotel room might mean sex."

Rodney didn't have anything for that one. He shrugged.

"So anyway," Sheppard said, shifting his jacket from one arm to the other and reaching for the door. "Thanks for dinner."

"Stay," Rodney said, desperate not to let Sheppard go out and gamble another small piece of his life away. "Please?"

Sheppard looked him over. He stood up straight under the scrutiny and then changed his mind, taking off his jacket and throwing it over the back of the couch. When he turned back around, he watched Sheppard's glance move across his shoulders and up to meet his eyes. Rodney lifted his eyebrows in a question, not even sure what he was asking.

Sheppard smirked again, and Rodney wondered if the sarcasm was permanently etched into his face.

"Unless," Rodney said, just to wipe the look off Sheppard's face. "You've got something against kissing. It's non-negotiable."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows and laughed, a short, sharp, braying sound. He pulled a pack of spearmint gum out of his pocket and unwrapped a piece, folding it into his mouth. He offered the pack to Rodney, who was torn between taking one and going in the bathroom to brush his teeth. He took a piece.

"Shit," Sheppard said suddenly, his head falling forward and almost resting on his chest. "You don't have any..."

_Condoms_.

"Since I wasn't actually planning on picking somebody up, no."

Sheppard finally came back into the main room, throwing his jacket on top of Rodney's and grabbing the phone. "This is room 1728," he said, "We need some condoms and lube.... Yes.... Yes, charge them to the room."

Rodney's jaw dropped. What the hell? How was he going to check out with that on his bill? He put his hands over his face.

"Don't worry about it," Sheppard said after Rodney heard the click of the phone being set back in its cradle. "They get that all the time. Just tip big."

Rodney looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do next. No TV for Sheppard, and no sex without the condoms, so that left...

"Chess?" Rodney asked. "I have it on my laptop."

Sheppard laughed, that ridiculously nasal sound, and shook his head. "Yeah, okay," he said, and Rodney went to get the laptop in the bedroom. When he came back into the sitting area, Sheppard walked right up to him, unknotted his tie, and slipped it off over his head.

"Strip chess," he said, and now Rodney laughed, a genuine smile settling on his face and feeling unfamiliar.

"Rules?" he asked, because strategy was everything in chess, but this added another, more intricate layer.

"Piece of clothing for every lost piece," Sheppard explained, as if he had played this before. Which was weird. And worrisome. "If someone manages checkmate, the other person has to strip completely."

The likelihood that Sheppard could beat him at chess seemed slim, knowledge of the rules of strip chess aside. Rodney decided to go defensive, keeping as many pieces in play as possible.

Sheppard, on the other hand, played kamikazi. He lost two pieces in four moves, and okay, so that was only his boots, but he continued on his suicidal run for the next half an hour, and lost his socks, shirt and finally his undershirt in split that made Rodney reevaluate Sheppard's chess abilities. Rodney'd only lost two pawns and a knight, and he sat with his unsocked foot tucked under his leg - the air conditioning made it a little chilly.

A knock at the door startled him out of his concentration, and Sheppard smirked at him. "You should probably get that," he said, glancing down at his naked chest.

"Fine," Rodney said, moving his bishop, "but that's one more piece for me." He pulled Sheppard's knight off the board and Sheppard tilted his head, obligingly standing up to remove his jeans while Rodney went to the door. He decided to take his other sock off and was hopping through the living room when the second knock came.

_Room service, sir._

"Hold your horses," Rodney said, turning around to catch a glimpse of Sheppard stretching, arms locked and back bowed, in nothing but his blue striped boxers. Rodney turned around and opened the door quickly.

The boy, who couldn't have been out of his teens, handed him a paper bag and a folder containing the bill. Eighty-three dollars. _Jesus_, that had better be enough condoms for a small country to prevent overpopulation.

Sheppard came up behind him as he was signing the bill - he could tell by the steadily growing eyes of the kid - and put his arms around Rodney, reaching into Rodney's pocket, which would have made him yelp if Sheppard hadn't immediately latched onto his wallet.

Sheppard slid out from behind Rodney, rubbing every possible inch of their bodies together in the process, and slipped a fifty in with the bill Rodney had signed and handed it over. Rodney turned his head to berate him, but Sheppard derailed him with a kiss. A simple, dry kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Thanks," he said, shutting the door in the kid's face.

"Checkmate," Sheppard whispered in his ear, and started unbuttoning Rodney, his arms around Rodney's ribcage and his hands sure on the placket of Rodney's dress shirt.

"What?!" Rodney yelled, slapping at Sheppard's hands and running over to the computerized chessboard. "How is that possible?"

Sheppard picked up the paper bag, sauntering back to the couch while peeking inside. "Nice selection."

Rodney pointed a finger at Sheppard. "You cheated!"

Sheppard raised his eyebrows, looking impatient. "You can check the logs. I only made one move."

Rodney picked up the tablet to do just that, but Sheppard cleared his throat and started pulling things out of the paper bag. "Cinnamon, mint, extra-slippery, and self-heating lube."

Rodney tore his eyes away from the logs and looked at Sheppard, who looked like an ad for Astroglide, standing there in the middle of the room mostly naked and holding several tubes and bottles of lube. "Um," Rodney said, letting the tablet fall onto the couch.

"That's better," Sheppard said, and strutted towards him. There was no other word for the laidback, slinky glide of Sheppard's lanky body across the room, and Rodney was desperately searching for one. "Now, I believe, as the winner, you owe me a strip tease."

"What?" Rodney asked, wondering when the temperature in the room had skyrocketed. "I just thought I had to take them off, not... not..."

Sheppard shrugged and put his hands on Rodney's biceps, moving him just enough to maneuver himself around Rodney and into a sitting position on the couch, legs splayed and the inside of his thighs framing Rodney. "Nothing fancy," Sheppard said, dipping a hand into the waistband of his boxers. "I just want to watch."

Rodney flushed, more embarrassed by the obvious desire Sheppard displayed than anything about his own nudity. He'd grown into his body the hard way, broadening in his thirties, and filling out his frame with a surprising amount of muscle from his daily activities around Atlantis and the Pegasus galaxy.

He unbuttoned his shirt, picking up where Sheppard left off. He'd had a lot to drink - not nearly as much as Sheppard, but enough to make his fingers clumsy. The tiny buttons on the cuffs were too tough, and he eventually held his arms out to Sheppard. Sheppard didn't seem to lose manual dexterity when he was drunk, deftly slipping the tiny buttons through their holes. Rodney slipped the shirt off and threw it on top of the slowly growing mound of not-quite-folded clothes on the back of the couch.

Sheppard's hand may have been hidden from view, but there was no way to miss what he was doing, and Rodney found himself pleasantly surprised to be the cause of that reaction. He faked clumsiness again, shoving his hips in Sheppard's face and asking for his help with the belt.

Sheppard didn't let go of his cock, just undid Rodney's belt with one hand like it was the easiest thing in the world, and when Sheppard unbuttoned and unzipped the pants, Rodney wasn't surprised to feel himself half-hard.

Sheppard's hand cupped his dick, and the smooth pressure felt good, so Rodney leaned into it. He was fascinated by Sheppard's hands working in tandem, stroking himself in counterpoint to rubbing his thumb over the head of Rodney's cock.

Sheppard leaned forward, and Rodney didn't even have time to get spooked before he put his mouth on Rodney's cock through his boxers. Sheppard pulled Rodney's pants down his legs at the same time, entirely too coordinated for someone who'd drank at least a fifth of vodka in the last couple of hours.

Rodney closed his eyes for a moment, letting the wet heat of Sheppard's mouth soak into his bones, concentrating on nothing more than holding himself still and not falling over. When Sheppard pulled the waistband of Rodney's boxers away from his body and reached a hand into them, Rodney thought the not-falling-over part of that equation might be too much to ask.

Then Sheppard leaned even further forward, head bowed, and Rodney snapped his hips back out of reach.

"Are you crazy?" Rodney asked.

Sheppard lounged back against the couch, putting one arm up casually. "You have something against blowjobs?"

"I have something against unprotected sex!" Rodney answered, crossing his arms over his chest, a position that couldn't be anything but ridiculous with his pants puddled at his feet.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Sheppard asked, leaning forward again, smirking up at Rodney.

"Where's your sense of self-preservation?" Rodney asked, leaning back as far as he could without tipping over.

"Let's just say you seem trustworthy," Sheppard said, and Rodney couldn't contain his sarcastic little 'Ha!'

"You don't like the taste of latex, and you're willing to take your chances," Rodney said, fairly certain he'd hit the nail on the head. He'd tasted latex before, unfortunate incidents with food and condoms, experiments he never wanted to repeat again. "Well, forget it. You're not gambling with your health tonight, either."

"Thanks, _dad_," Sheppard said, and flopped back against the couch, sulky as a grounded teenager.

_Shit_, Rodney thought, cursing his damn run-on mouth. He hadn't exactly been gung ho about this whole adventure, but the thought of losing his chance hit him pretty hard right behind the breastbone.

There was only one thing for it, an apology, or something like one. Rodney never apologized; he was almost never wrong, and when he was, there usually wasn't any other option anyway. He was right, damn it, and the words stuck in his throat. He cleared it.

"Sorry."

The surprise on Sheppard's face would have been enough to make him laugh, if he hadn't been on the edge of losing something he never knew he wanted. Sheppard got himself under control then, the sulky teenager gone in an instant, replaced by a man who knew a thing or two about how to use his body.

Sheppard shifted, settling his back against the arm of the couch, one leg along the cushions and the other off the side, his knee resting lightly against Rodney's shin. With his legs stretched that wide, there was nothing left to the imagination, and Rodney wanted to rub his face against Sheppard's boxers, catching Sheppard's dick in his mouth, just to see.

"So," Sheppard said, lazily knocking his knee against the couch cushions. "I was promised kissing."

Rodney stepped out of his pants and knelt on the couch between Sheppard's spread legs. His right knee was dangerously close to Sheppard's balls, but he didn't seem to mind, so Rodney left it, leaning forward and feeling the cotton of Sheppard's boxers and the hair of his balls brush his knee.

Rodney levered himself down, a slow spread of his body over Sheppard's. He put his head down and bit Sheppard's neck, right on the tendon that pulled taut under his teeth as Sheppard turned his head away and choked out a sound that shifted into a moan.

Sheppard tilted his hips then, his balls scraping up along Rodney's inner thigh, and Rodney reached a hand for them, pulling a little and working Sheppard's cock out through the leg hole of his boxers.

It was awkward, and hell on his wrist, but the continual low moan Sheppard made egged him on, made him work through the discomfort to see if he could make his pitch higher, make his breath more ragged.

"Fuck," Sheppard said, when Rodney bit his neck again, and his hips raised another couple of inches, making the angle even more uncomfortable. "Fuck me already," Sheppard said, shoving Rodney back with his fingertips, five bright points of near-painful pressure on his chest.

Rodney knelt up, and Sheppard did an extraordinarily complicated move, lifting his hips, bringing his legs together and slipping his boxers off. Rodney, certain only bad things could come of attempting such acrobatics himself, stood up and deposited his boxers next to the couch. He reached for the paper bag resting on the end table just behind Sheppard's head, picking the first condom he found - ribbed, for her pleasure - and thrusting two bottles at Sheppard so he could pick the lube. Extra-slippery, and who knew whose pleasure that was for.

Sheppard spread his legs again, one pressed into the sofa cushions and the other resting comfortably on the floor, and Rodney crawled between them. He kissed Sheppard this time, biting his lower lip and listening to Sheppard groan softly. He bit Sheppard's jaw too, and his neck, back down to worry the tendon that was still red from his first attack.

He felt Sheppard's hand working between them, the subtle roll of his wrist against Rodney's cock building up and shocking him in little bursts like static electricity. He hadn't actually thought about it, but he sort of assumed Sheppard was stroking himself. When he finally took a second to look between them, he realized Sheppard had two fingers in his ass, and he was rocking up and down onto them, stopping slightly at the top and bottom of his truncated arc.

Rodney watched for a bit, torn between the long line of Sheppard's arm along his torso and the way he bit one side of his lower lip in concentration. Finally, Sheppard looked up at him and nodded, pulling his fingers out of himself and covering his palm and fingers with lube. He grabbed Rodney's cock and stroked his hand up it slowly, fingers catching on the ribs, _thwip thwip thwip thwip thwip_. Rodney could feel it reverberate all the way up to his ears.

He huffed out a breath, falling forward a little and biting the nearest piece of Sheppard - his shoulder, it turned out - while Sheppard perfunctorily stroked him to distribute the lube. Rodney wasn't sure it was supposed to feel so business-like, but when Sheppard shifted down the couch and positioned Rodney's cock so easily Rodney nearly fell into him, the simple efficiency of getting to the good part made a lot of sense.

Sheppard's head went back as Rodney slid in, surprisingly easy, so slick he had to stop and get his head together before there was an unfortunate accident. He stilled for a second, breathing deeply and watching Sheppard's hips lift in infinitesimal increments.

"God damn it," Sheppard hissed through clenched teeth. "Move!"

Rodney half-grinned, one corner of his mouth quirking up at finally having some kind of advantage over Sheppard, the surprising guy who had kept him on his toes for most of the evening. Then Sheppard got the best of him again, bowing his back, putting his hands on the couch for leverage, and lowering himself onto Rodney.

Rodney let himself be pushed upright by Sheppard's movement, staring down at the inexorable slide of Sheppard down his cock. His hands went automatically to Sheppard's hips, and Sheppard bowed even more, his entire body a single graceful arch that intersected with Rodney's perfectly, the rush of something under his skin that felt like white noise.

Rodney couldn't do more than watch, transfixed by the exquisiteness of Sheppard moving himself up and down on Rodney's cock determinedly, head thrown back and shuddering, muttering 'yeah,' with no rhythm at all, stuttering every once in a while and backing up, like he had a particular itch to scratch.

That was enough to get Rodney moving. He used his grip on Sheppard's hips to pull himself back and nearly out of Sheppard's body, a move that caused one of Sheppard's arms to flail outward violently, and his sagging body to arch again. "Fuck," he whined, his hips straining against Rodney's hands, his thighs shaking with the effort.

Rodney wanted to say something, something reassuring or commanding or even competent. Just something to let Sheppard know he had him. He pushed instead, feeling Sheppard open around him, the weight of his body coming down into Rodney's hands like it was too much effort to hold himself up any more.

"Yeah," Sheppard said, "come on," his whole body strung tight. Rodney could read his impending orgasm in the lines of the tendons in his neck and the shake of the muscles in his thighs, the way his whole body came to Rodney as easy as rolling downhill.

When he did come, he went absolutely still, a sculpture in clenched muscle and held breath, the most beautiful thing Rodney had seen under his hands since Atlantis herself.

* * *

  
The phone rang. Loudly. Twice.

The first ring woke Rodney out of a sound sleep, perfectly awake but unable to grasp his surroundings. He glanced around the room and at the figure in bed next to him, and realized he was on Earth. On vacation. With a passed out John Sheppard in his bed.

And then the phone rang again, and Rodney picked it up, his heart slowing its frenetic tap dance as he yelled at the person on the other end of the line. "Yes, what?"

"Yes. No. God, _no_, don't let that idiot touch it! Give me five minutes."

He climbed out of bed, threw on some of the clothes from the mound burying half the couch, and grabbed his wallet, laptop and 'just in case' ID cards and flash drives, kept in a nice little pouch in his shaving kit. Minute and a half left.

He wandered over to the bed, staring down at Sheppard, failing to understand how this man had made his way here. Forty seconds.

He leaned down and kissed Sheppard's temple, saying an ill-remembered prayer to St. Anthony to protect his lost soul. Sheppard smiled in his sleep, the last pleasant sight Rodney saw for quite a while as was transported to the Daedalus and almost immediately back down to the SGC, where he worked against time to save SG-4, who had gotten stuck in a time loop somewhere on P3X-413.

By the time he got back to his hotel room, Sheppard was long gone, his entire existence erased from the hotel room by conscientious cleaning staff. Rodney didn't leave a tip.

He packed his suitcase and left, destined for the Pegasus galaxy in a mind-boggling stretch of eighteen incredibly dull days on the Daedalus.

* * *

  
St. Anthony hadn't done a bang up job with Sheppard, but he wasn't dead, so Rodney supposed that was something. He let Woolsey have first crack at him; when Woolsey couldn't talk him into it, it was Rodney's turn.

He looked in at Sheppard, naked without his aviators, and brushed his fingers over the gum in his pocket. Show time.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [alizarin_nyc](http://www.alizarin_nyc.livejournal.com) in the One-Night Stand Ficathon at [inlovewithnight](http://www.inlovewithnight.livejournal.com)'s LJ. She wanted John and Rodney from the Vegas universe. Beta by the lovely, excellent, and _fast_ [](http://the-wanlorn.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**the_wanlorn**](http://the-wanlorn.dreamwidth.org/). Any errors left are all my fault, please point them out.


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